Eden Rising

by Brett Battles

  “That’s Pishon Chem,” she reminded him.

  Right. Pishon Chem.

  There had been a problem there on Implementation Day. The previous senior manager, Herr…Schmidt, had died of complications from an injury he’d received. If Perez remembered correctly, the injury had occurred in the semi-chaos of a loading zone being used to distribute KV-27a to the unsuspecting men hired to spray the city with it. Schmitt had been punctured in the shoulder by a loose railing on one of the trucks or something like that. By the time anyone realized what had happened, he’d lost too much blood to be saved. Dettling had been the next man in seniority, and was immediately promoted.

  “I want to talk to him. Right now.”

  “Right away,” she said.

  One minute later Perez’s phone rang.

  “I have Mr. Dettling for you,” Claudia announced. “Center screen.”

  “Put him through.”

  The center monitor filled with a head shot of a tired-looking, middle-aged man with thinning hair.

  “Principal Director,” Dettling said. “This is an honor. What is it I can do for you?”

  “You can start by telling me what the hell is going on over there.”

  Dettling hesitated. “I assume you mean the detainee issue.”

  “Yes. The detainee issue.”

  “Uh, um, most of those who had been housed in the infected enclosure were still within the compound so we’ve been able to round them up.”

  “And the uninfected?”

  “We’re, um, still looking for them.”

  “How many have you reacquired so far?”

  Another pause. “None yet, sir.”

  “None? As in zero?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Perez stared into the camera, letting an oppressive silence grow between them.

  After several seconds, Dettling shifted nervously in his chair and said, “Sir, I promise you we will—”

  “Have you caught the one responsible?”

  “Not yet. I’m sure we’ll find him when we find the others.”

  “And what makes you think that?”

  Dettling’s eyebrows moved toward each other, his forehead wrinkling. “I’m, uh, not quite…I don’t know—”

  “Why would you assume the person who cut through your fences is with the others and not still there in your compound?”

  “Our compound? You mean, you think it could be one of the infected detainees?”

  “Mr. Dettling, prove to me you’re not an idiot and tell me you are looking into your own personnel.”

  “My personnel?” Dettling said. “You mean the Project people here?”

  “It certainly wouldn’t be anyone where I am, would it?”

  “Of course not. It’s just…I didn’t—”

  “No, you didn’t, but now you will. Check them.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  The intercom buzzed. He hit the speaker button

  “Sir,” Claudia said. “It’s time for your Madrid call.”

  “All right,” Perez said. He hung up and looked back at the camera. “Mr. Dettling?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “The next time we talk, you will tell me the mess is cleaned up.”

  “Absolu—”

  Perez hit the key that terminated the call.

  21

  PASO ROBLES, CALIFORNIA

  8:28 PM PST

  AFTER RETRACING THEIR path back into the San Joaquin Valley, Martina and her friends headed north again on the I-5 until they reached Highway 58. Because of their experience with the man back on 166, they kept their speed down as they traveled through the mountains, and whenever they came to a blind turn, they slowed to almost a crawl. But there were no roadblocks this time. In fact, they saw very few cars at all.

  By the time they reached the 101 freeway, the sun was nearing the horizon. Martina pushed her friends a little farther, but when they crossed into the Paso Robles city limits thirty minutes later, it was too dark to continue.

  They found a motel just north of what appeared to be the local fairgrounds, and scrounged some food from a place called Margie’s Diner down the street before calling it a night.

  “What do you think they’re doing?” Noreen asked, as they lay in their room waiting for sleep to take them.

  “Who?” Martina said.

  “Jilly and the others. I’ll bet the UN’s put them up in a nice place with hot meals and clean clothes and showers.”

  “We’ve got a shower here,” Martina said. “And if you want clean clothes, we can stop at Target in the morning.”

  “Not the same.”

  Quiet for a moment.

  “How many people do you think there are?” Riley asked. She and Martina were sharing a bed tonight.

  “I don’t know,” Martina replied. “A hundred? Two hundred?”

  “Maybe a thousand,” Riley said. “Can you imagine what it would be like to see a thousand people in one place right now? I’d love that.”

  Silence again.

  “Do you…do you think my dad and sister are there?” Riley asked.

  “I hope so.” It wasn’t really an answer, but Martina didn’t want to tell her friend what she really thought.

  This time the silence went on for several minutes, and Martina started to think she was the only one still awake.

  Then Noreen whispered, “What’s going to happen?”

  “We find Ben,” Martina said.

  “No, I mean, you know, what’s going to happen? Next year. The year after that. The rest of our lives. What are we going to do?”

  Martina was quiet for several moments before giving Noreen the only answer she could come up with.

  “We live.”

  ISABELLA ISAND, COSTA RICA

  10:40 PM CST

  WHEN THE RESORT had simply been a resort, the bar was where everyone gathered in the evenings. The nights had been filled with laughter and celebrations then—accounts and lawyers and managers in vacation mode, letting loose in ways they never did back home. Since those on the island had become isolated, there was little laughter and no celebrations, but attendance at the bar remained high.

  Surprisingly, few abused the new open-bar policy, most choosing to have only a drink or two at most, and many none at all. It was simply the place where some people could pretend everything would be okay, while others could at least feel they weren’t alone. It was where many started their day, and most ended it.

  Since the radio contact with the UN plane the day before, the mood of the residents gathered at the bar had turned hopeful. Soon the UN would bring them the vaccine, and everyone might be able to get off the island and look for loved ones who might have survived.

  A favorite guessing game at the bar was: When would the UN arrive?

  “I’d bet it won’t be more than a couple more days at most. They know we’re here. They can’t leave us unprotected for long.”

  “The fact we are here is why they won’t be getting to us for a while. We’re contained. Safe. Why waste time on us while there are probably others in more danger?”

  “We’re in plenty of danger. Plenty!”

  “I don’t think it will be much more than a week. That’s what they said, right? A week? Hey, Robert, they said a week right?”

  Robert had been nursing a cold glass of water at a table along the railing of the deck. The conversation had been going on over at the bar. He’d been trying to ignore it, but had known at some point they’d try to pull him in. It had happened with others several times already.

  He looked over and said, “They told us it could be a few days, maybe more.”

  “Could be,” one of the men in the group pointed out to his friends. “Could be a few weeks, too.”

  Just like that, Robert was once more forgotten. He returned his gaze to the dark rolling sea. Of all the people at the bar, he was the only one who seemed to be still worried. Not about the UN and the vaccine, of course. He was happy about that. But until ev
eryone was inoculated and started leaving the island, Robert was in charge of making sure they were all fed and safe. It was a responsibility that seemed to grow heavier every day.

  “You should never drink alone.”

  He looked up and found Estella standing next to his table.

  “Don’t know if this qualifies as drinking,” he said, picking up his glass. “Water.”

  “Drinking is drinking.” She pulled out the other chair, scooted it closer to his, and sat down.

  Ever since their morning on the beach the day before, he’d begun to notice her around more. He wasn’t sure if she’d always been there, or if her presence around him was something new. He had to admit he didn’t mind.

  “So when do you think they will come back?” she asked.

  “They’ll get here when they get here,” he said.

  “A smart answer.”

  “Don’t know if it’s smart, but it certainly saves me a lot of grief.”

  She cocked her head. “Grief?”

  “Uh, keeps me from, let’s see, um, having people get mad at me for no reason.”

  “Ah, okay. I understand.”

  She raised her glass toward his. As they clinked, he noted she was either drinking a tumbler full of straight vodka or was also having water.

  She took a sip, and put her glass down. “You are a busy man.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do I look busy?”

  “You do.” She tapped her temple. “Inside, you thinking very much.”

  “Well, hazard of the position, I guess.”

  Again, her head cocked.

  Before she could ask, he said, “Part of doing my job.”

  A nod and a smile.

  “What do you do back home?” he asked, wanting to move the spotlight away from him.

  Her face clouded. “I do not do anything now, I think.”

  “I mean before,” he said.

  “I worked at a university. In the library.”

  “You’re a librarian?”

  “Why do you sound surprised?”

  “You don’t strike me as the librarian type.”

  “Strike you as the librarian type?”

  “It means—”

  “I know what it means. You do not strike me as the bartender type.”

  “I’m not a bartender anymore.”

  “And I’m not a librarian now, either.”

  He smiled and looked back out at the sea.

  A minute passed, or two or three—he wasn’t keeping track. When he heard Estella’s chair scrape against the ground, he looked over and watched her rise to her feet.

  “Thanks for joining me,” he said. “It was nice.” He meant it. For a few moments as they’d talked, he’d been able to forget about everything else.

  She looked down at him, the corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly, and then held out her hand, palm up.

  “Come,” she said.

  He smiled, ready to tell her, thanks, but he had too much on his mind. Before he knew what he was doing, though, his hand was in hers and he was on his feet, all thoughts of the island and the others and the vaccine and the UN fading away.

  WALSENBURG, COLORADO

  9:55 PM MST

  THE RESISTANCE CONVOY reached Denver as the sun was going down, but since there was only a light dusting of snow on the freeway, they pushed on, not stopping until they reached Walsenburg three hours later.

  Their home for the night was a Best Western north of town. Ash, Brandon, and Josie took a room on the second floor, while Ginny and Rick chose one about as far away as possible on the first. That hadn’t been Ginny’s idea. She and Josie and Brandon had begun to form a bond, and Ash knew the girl would have liked to stay near them.

  Rick, on the other, had spent a good part of the trip glaring at Brandon and rubbing the hand that was missing a finger. Ash knew he would have to keep an eye on that situation. Though Brandon had become very good at taking care of himself, Rick was several years older than Ash’s son and twice his size. Ash had no doubt the kid was planning some kind of retribution.

  “You all right?” Ash asked Brandon, once he and his kids were alone in their room. While his son had not outwardly let Rick’s unwanted attention affect him during the trip, Ash was concerned that inside was a different story.

  “Yeah, why?” Brandon asked.

  “Rick.”

  “Rick? I can’t help it if he’s a jerk. If he didn’t want to get hurt, he shouldn’t have been shooting at us.”

  Ash put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “True. Probably best, though, if you keep your distance. Don’t think he’s looking at things in quite the same way.”

  “How’s Brandon supposed to do that when we’re all in the same truck?” Josie asked.

  It was a good point, and one Ash had been thinking about. “I’ll see what I can do about that in the morning,” he said.

  They ate dinner in their room, sharing cans of pears and ravioli and lima beans, and got ready for bed. Ash was finishing brushing his teeth when someone knocked on the door.

  “I’ll get it,” Brandon said.

  As the door opened, Ash heard Matt’s voice from the hallway. “Hey, Brandon. Your dad around?”

  Ash stepped out of the bathroom. “What’s up?”

  “Can I borrow you for a minute?” Matt asked.

  “Sure.” He pulled on the shirt he’d just taken off and told his kids, “Be right back.”

  Stepping out of the room, he saw Matt wasn’t alone. A few feet away, Chloe was leaning against the wall.

  “What’s going on?” Ash asked.

  “Not here,” Matt said, and headed down the hall.

  Ash glanced at Chloe, silently asking if she knew what was up.

  “More bullshit, I bet,” she whispered as she pushed herself off the wall and followed Matt.

  Matt stopped about ten feet short of the end of the hallway, in an area where none of the rooms were being used. When Ash and Chloe joined him, he said, “I didn’t want to spring it on you in the morning, so I’m going to tell you now. This is where we part.”

  “Matt, it’s not a good idea,” Ash argued.

  Ignoring him, Matt said, “The 160 heads west from here. You’ll take that. Here.” He pulled a folded map out of his pocket and held it out to Ash. “The route to the base in Nevada is marked. You’ll take one of the plows and your Humvee. Head out when we do in the morning, so you beat the storm.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” Chloe said. “You need us.”

  “We’ve gone over this already,” Matt said. “I’m not going to argue about it again.”

  Ash had yet to take the map from him.

  “Chloe and I are the only ones here who’ve ever actually been in one of Project Eden’s facilities,” Ash said. “There’s a good chance you’re going to need what we know.”

  “Take it,” Matt said, waving the map. “Get the kids to Nevada where they’ll be safe.”

  With extreme reluctance, Ash took it from him.

  Looking relieved, Matt said, “I sympathize. I really do, but trust me, this is not a mission you want to be on, especially in the condition you both are in.” He forced a smile. “Now go get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then, looking as if he couldn’t get away fast enough, he walked stiff-legged to the stairs and headed down.

  “This is stupid,” Chloe said when she and Ash were alone. “Even with one hand I’m better than anyone he’s got.”

  Ash didn’t doubt that was true. His own condition, though, was not quite as accommodating. He knew he’d be struggling to keep up with the others, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be part of the team. If what Matt had planned would truly deliver a major blow to the Project, Ash needed to be there. That would be protecting his kids. Driving them to Nevada would be running away.

  “You’re thinking it, too, aren’t you?”

  He looked up and saw Chloe staring at him. “What?”

  “That you’re going to New M
exico whether Matt wants you to or not.”

  He hesitated. “The kids,” he said. “I can’t just leave them.”

  “Your kids aren’t kids anymore,” she said. “We find a good place for them to hide and they’ll be more than capable of taking care of themselves until we get back.”

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed his eyes. “I want to. I…I don’t know.”

  “I do know,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  As he watched her walk back to her room and disappear inside, he tried to figure out what would be the right thing to do, but this wasn’t his decision alone.

  When he returned to the room, Brandon and Josie were lying down but still awake.

  “What did he want?” Josie asked.

  Ash walked over to the empty bed the kids had left for him, and sat on the corner. “I need to talk to you both about something.”

  EASTERN NEVADA

  9:17 PM PST

  THE AMOUNT OF fuel left at the Ranch had not been nearly as much as Pax had expected, so they’d only had enough to get the Combi to Idaho Falls, where they were able to finally fill up their tanks. By the time they got back in the air, it was after seven thirty p.m.

  Pax was sitting in the cockpit auxiliary seat, headset on, when they neared their destination.

  “Bravo Eleven, this is Pax,” he said, using the call sign for the Nevada base. “Bravo Eleven, please come in.”

  Static.

  “Bravo Eleven, this is—”

  “This is Bravo Eleven,” a female voice cut in. “Please restate your call sign.”

  Grinning broadly, Pax said, “It’s not a call sign. It’s my damn name. It’s Pax. Rich Paxton.”

  For a moment, there was no response, then, “Pax? Are you kidding me?”

  Recognizing the voice, he said, “Is that you, Crystal?”

  “Yes! Pax, oh my God! We thought—” She paused. “Hold on.”

  When the static stretched to several seconds, Pax said, “Bravo Eleven, you still there? Crystal?”

  “Is it really you?” A female voice, though not Crystal’s anymore.

  “Rachel,” Pax said. “It’s great to hear your voice.”

  “You’re alive.”

  “Hell, yes, we’re alive!”